Flashes of police lights and sounds of sirens. Retrievers
with families and bulldogs with hipsters. Green trees and squirrels the size of
housecats.
New York- an exercise in contrast. A symphony of disjointed
notes and dazzling harmony. A neighborhood of the friendly where you are
constantly surrounded by strangers. A place that is home to everyone and nobody
at the same time.
I have mixed feelings about it. It’s phenomenal, of course,
and simultaneously discouraging. I seem “New York” when I leave and so “West Coast”
when I stay. I fit and I don’t.
In the West Village, the haven of gay culture and young
people, the only violence I ever hear about is against gay men, and when I hear
of it, it is usually recent, deadly and totally inconspicuous.
I’ve become both more tolerant and less so. Drag queens make
sense to me, and I don’t blink at the homeless man on the subway starting his
monologue. Diversity is the norm. Celebrity is irrelevant.
I scoff heartily at “cash only.” When my friends visit
without any heels, I get annoyed. I judge people who don’t drink alcohol as
boring, and I find it weird when I can’t get takeout at two in the morning. I
tolerate the homeless man on the subway but know how to avoid him confronting
me.
I see love all the time. I see it in the couple on the pier
reading in the sun, the surprising number of water bowls put out for dogs
around the city, in the young man freaking out as he yells at another that he
broke his heart. I see it every time a woman with a cane walks onto the subway
and someone gives their seat away, and every time I show up at my busy bagel
shop and the man behind the counter offers me a nod and expedites my order.
New York is a weird place- the best and the worst all
wrapped together in a vertical package that juts into the sky without
restraint, reaching for heaven and falling short. Every time I come to a
conclusion about its worth, about its character, about its suitability it
changes, it tricks me, it fools me into finding its beauty, its scars, its head
on a platter begging, eat me up. Eat me up because soon, I’ll have a new face.
Soak up my ever-oscillating faces and sink into messy,
beautiful opportunity, and you might just find something that makes it all
worth it.